


Harry James Potter. The Boy Who Lived- And Was Loved

by tasteslikesugar



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child - Thorne & Rowling
Genre: Feels, Gen, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-11 16:08:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8997682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tasteslikesugar/pseuds/tasteslikesugar
Summary: I wanted to write something showing how Harry Potter impacted so many lives, while simultaneously satisfying my need for some light Albus x Scorpius, and this is my meager attempt. It's short, but I hope you like it.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write something showing how Harry Potter impacted so many lives, while simultaneously satisfying my need for some light Albus x Scorpius, and this is my meager attempt. It's short, but I hope you like it.

Sunlight filters down through the trees in Godric’s Hollow. The leaves are scarlet and yellow, dazzling in their abundance. They make the light all the more golden and angelic. Dead leaves covering the graves of dead people. The irony of that is enough to make Albus Severus Potter’s eyebrows twitch. The autumn air is frigid. He pulls his grey wool coat closer to his body, feeling a chill down to his very bones. He has grown taller, but his shoulders are not any broader. He looks like he’s been awkwardly stretched- though he doesn’t mind it very much, because it reminds him of his father. His hair is close-cut on the sides but his bangs fall over his face, which is quite useful for hiding his eyes during emotional situations like this. He doesn’t want anyone to see him cry today.

The graveyard is alive with a silent energy. People flitting back and forth between the graves, congregating in a crowd near one particular headstone. Some are shrouded in jewel toned robes. Others are dressed in Muggle clothing. But regardless of their attire, all of them share the same solemnity in their eyes. There is no laughter, but rather quiet, reverent conversation…they are visitors to a sacred temple. There are tears, and occasionally a sob rings out, but after each cry of grief the graveyard eventually lapses back into peace. 

An old woman approaches Albus and shakes his hand firmly. Her grip is still strong, even after all these years. Her face is lined with age, but still very expressive and full of life. Her eyes are sharp and blazing with energy, like a sparrow’s. 

“Nice to see you, Albus. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” Her voice is frail but clear. Even now, Hermione sounds every bit the former Minister of Magic. No…there is a faint tremor. Albus shoves his hands in his coat pockets, pretending he doesn’t notice. 

“It has.” He can’t think of anything else to say. What can anyone say in this situation?  He wishes he had the proper words. “He…he would have been glad that you came. Really. Where’s Rose?” His voice feels heavy, struggling to even escape from his throat. It takes the breath away from him. 

“She’s down there in the crowd, mingling. I’d rather avoid it if at all possible, too many people. Too many memories. I’ll start crying again. But I guess I’ll have to make an appearance at some point…five years already, hm? Time really flies by…it still feels like it happened just yesterday.” Hermione smiles sadly, but her eyes are sparkling brighter, wet and warm. “At least he’s not by himself, Ron’s there too…you know. Wherever they are now. That idiot will be getting him into all sorts of trouble, I’m sure.” 

“I thought my dad was the trouble-maker.” Albus cracks a grin, noticing that this statement seems to cheer up Hermione a bit. 

“Yes!”  Her voice comes out unusually high-pitched, like she’s been holding it in for too long- a kettle filling up with steam. “Yes…he was. They both were.”

“All three of you were trouble, actually,” drawls a cool voice. A familiar figure slips from behind a nearby oak tree. Draco Malfoy- a silver fox in both senses of the word. His hair has grown longer, down to the small of his back. He remains clean shaven, even though his hands have aged to the point where they shake even grasping his razor. His age can be seen in wrinkles around his mouth and eyes. Frown lines from the distant past, laugh lines from the recent past. His gloved hands rest on a snake-headed cane, but he’s making an effort to stand up straight and proud. “You were always sneaking about when no one was looking, getting up to mischief.”

“And you tended to sneak out after us to find out what we were doing,” retorts Hermione. She gives Draco a friendly smile and shakes his hand. “Glad you could make it, Draco.” 

“Yes…” mutters Draco. His eyes have already sighted where the crowd is gathered. “Potter…” he mumbles, as if forgetting about Albus and Hermione’s presence. He gets a faraway look on his face, like he’s traveled back to Hogwarts, and the age of The Chosen One. Then, with a slight shake of his head, the look is gone, as if it never existed. “So, how long have this rabble been here?” 

“All day,” says Albus, shifting his feet in an effort to generate heat. “We got to see the grave this morning- the family, I mean. Mum was in tears, but she tried to hide it. So was Lily. James just sat there staring at it, didn’t say a word. I can’t imagine what might have been going through his head. Five years, and this crowd still shows up every year to pay their respects…that’s something, isn’t it?”

“It is indeed,” Draco says, with a slight smile. He begins to walk towards the crowd, but then stops to look back at Albus. He bites his lip, as if wondering whether or not to say something. His expression clears- he has made his decision. “Thank-you…for being by Scorpius all this time. I doubt that when I eventually go to my grave, I will get this kind of turnout. But I think I wouldn’t dislike it if you came with my son. He will need you then, you know. He will take it very hard. He needs you even now. Be there for him.” 

Albus opens his mouth, but for a second, no words come out. He clears his throat and sticks out his hand, hoping that he doesn’t look as emotional as he feels. “Thank-you, sir. I will. I promise.” 

Draco briskly shakes his hand and makes his way down the hill, to the crowd. Hermione hastily bids farewell to Albus and moves to help Draco down the hill. He rejects her help initially, but by the end of the sloping hill they are walking arm in arm.    

Albus finds a dry patch of grass under the oak tree and sits, watching the people and magical beings come and go. Neville passes by, his long, graying hair haphazardly pulled back in a ponytail and falling down in waves. He almost trips over a tree root, but catches himself at the last minute, remarking on what a lovely graveyard it is. _“Glad that my gran and my parents are here too.”_ Albus nods and smiles, and they chat for a bit, but eventually Neville leaves. Luna Lovegood, Teddy Lupin, Lee Jordan, Dean Thomas, Viktor Krum, Cho Chang, Oliver Wood, all of them pass by with their families. Their words are similar, tinged with the same glowing warmth. The depth of the bond between them and Harry Potter, how he impacted their lives…Albus shivers just thinking about it. Or maybe that’s due to the cold. It really is freezing. He pulls his coat closer. 

The sun is already dipping behind the trees. The clouds across the sunset are pale and blazing, it reminds Albus of something…ah. Silver hair. There is almost no one left in the graveyard now. His family has left, understanding what he wants. He makes his way down the hill, his legs stiff from the long rest. He can feel the rotting leaves under his feet, and he realizes his father is decaying too, in this quiet, magical place. Each time he remembers his father’s death, it still shocks him. He wonders if that will ever change. The air is still, but there are so many stories in each gravestone. Albus reads the names on each one he passes, thinking that they too are deserving of a measure of recognition. When he finally reaches _James and Lily Potter,_ he halts. He kneels down, ignoring the painful cramps in his legs. 

 _I really need to get in better shape, this is ridiculous,_ he thinks to himself. 

He turns to the next grave. _Harry James Potter. The Boy Who Lived- And Was Loved._ Flowers, toys, ribbons, and magical cards are heaped around the grave, to the degree that finding a place to kneel comfortably is difficult. So much love, so much sentiment…Albus would be surprised if his father couldn’t see it, from wherever he is. His eye catches the edge of a Chocolate Frog card with his father’s face on it- some child, or an adult with a sense of humor, must have left it. “You would like that, wouldn’t you.” The words disappear in the cool calm. “They all miss you, you know. Everyone…” Albus’s voice falters, for a moment. He almost feels foolish. After he composes himself, he starts talking again, louder than before. “Everyone wishes you were still here. But even near the end, you weren’t afraid. Aunt Hermione said you ‘Greeted Death as an old friend’…I would like to think that’s the case.” 

Albus pauses, as if waiting for an answer, but all he hears is the rustle of wind through the trees, and the hushed footsteps of departing visitors. 

“I know we didn’t always get along…and I know that it was hard for you. We spent a lot of years misunderstanding each other, what we wanted from each other, who we are…I wish we could have found it out sooner. I wanted more time with you. I was so different from you, as a kid. You probably didn’t know what to say to me, how to relate to me. You’d been through so much when you were my age, that I’m surprised you managed to have a family at all, much less act like a father to me…but I didn’t realize. When I was that age, I could have never imagined that I would be here like this…that I would give anything to be in your shadow again.”

The graveyard is finally silent, aside from the music of the autumn breeze. Albus’ eyes glaze over but he makes no motion to wipe away the tears. They fall upon the flowers like drops of crystal.

“I hope you’re happy. I hope Uncle Ron is with you. I wish that we could have had more time, but I understand. I just don’t want you to have to fight anymore. I want you to have a rest. Isn’t that a strange thing to say?”

“It’s not strange at all.” A tall, slender man with gleaming hair steps behind Albus, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. His eyes are grey- but not the cold, empty gray of stone. They are the beautiful grey of a bird’s wing, full of warmth and light as a feather. He has grown up to look like his father- handsome and dignified. Though- reflects Albus- that dignity is often spoiled the moment he opens his mouth. Scorpius Malfoy has no time for formalities, not with Albus. With Albus, he says whatever comes into his mind. “I think your dad’s happy to hear it.” 

“You think? Funny, he looks rather disapproving.” Albus squints at the gravestone, his sarcasm softened by the lump in his throat. “I don’t know what to say, Scorpius. Five years, and I still don’t know what to say. I must really seem useless. I still can’t think of a way to deal with all of this.” Albus gestures around the graveyard. He feels like the figures on the gravestones are staring at him, mocking him. _Look at the Potter boy, look at him making a fool of himself. Some son he is_. 

“That’s nonsense. You did a great job. I was walking around when everyone else was still here, they _understand_ Albus, it’s natural for you to want some time to yourself. You don’t need to have a bloody speech prepared. Just say what you mean. That should always be enough.” 

“Thanks, Scorpius.” Albus pats Scorpius’ hand on his shoulder, and dips his head, trying to hide the tear tracks down his face. Scorpius smiles softly behind him. He already knows what is going through Albus’ mind.  _Who is he trying to look so strong for? Silly Albus. Always trying to prove yourself._

“Maybe I could have been different. I could have been placed in Gryffindor, I could have tried out for Quidditch even though I’m awful at it. I could have done all of these things, and we had so many arguments about what we wanted to see in each other. But in the end, he just accepted me the way I was…maybe it would have been better all along if I’d been different.”

“Don’t even say that. Then we might have never met…or at least, not gotten along half as well as we do now.” Scorpius gives Albus a playful wink. “I can’t imagine being friends with some knuckle-headed Quidditch jock version of Albus Potter. I’m sorry, that would just completely ruin you for me.” 

“How encouraging,” chuckles Albus, wiping his face dry on his coat sleeve. Scorpius always knows what to say to take away the keen edge of pain. His heart feels like it can finally beat again without breaking. Scorpius pulls Albus to his feet and kisses his hand softly, seeking to comfort his companion. “Ready to go home, Mr. Potter?” 

“Call me Albus. Mr. Potter is my father.” 

The two leave Godric’s Hollow hand in hand. Shadows dance upon the dying leaves like spirits, celebrating joyously. There is an otherworldly aura that envelops the whole area, but it fills passerby with comfort instead of fear. The world is peaceful here, and the passing of time is only marked by the amount leaves on the trees and the addition of new graves. It is a calm sanctuary, full of beginnings and endings. 

Night has finally fallen, and the stars gaze down upon the grave of Harry Potter. 


End file.
